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Only two people could get Londoners to trek all the way up to Alexandra Palace at 4 p.m. on a Sunday: English darts champ Luke Littler and Irish designer Simone Rocha. And given darts is in its off season, it was the fashion designer’s power alone that Pied Piper-ed a fleet of London Fashion Week-branded Benzes and Ubers up to the imposing Victorian dome.
Fashion types are happy to make such a journey (and they’re famously not happy about much), because in just over 15 years, Rocha has become one of the most powerful women at London Fashion Week. Her brand of lace, ribbons, and big Anne Boleyn sleeves has slowly built a rock-solid coalition of deep-end Rochaheads (the kind that wear her ruffles in full co-ords year-round) and casuals (the guys who go for a pearl-encrusted crossbody or the long, baggy shorts, almost always in the most evil shade of black).
At this year’s show, the designer doubled down on her beautifully monstrous aesthetic. Granted, there weren’t many pearls. But there were long, sweeping shearling coats and jackets patched up with the sort of floral upholstery you’d find on a sofa in a National Trust home, kindly asking guests not to sit on it. I knew what to expect from Rocha and still I loved it, and I was happy to have made the three-hour round trip.
I’m not alone. “It just feels so real and genuine, like it’s designed from the heart,” said Lewis Munro, a stylist in attendance that has worked with musician Arlo Parks and actor James Norton. “I personally love the menswear and I own too much of it. I like the way the frilly details and ribbons are put against denim, leather and stiff cottons. That mix is what makes it so special to me.”
Rocha has all the makings of a cult designer, but it’s inaccurate to call her that. While the haunted child ghost aesthetic is pretty niche, Rocha has managed to make it paddle in the mainstream because people are crying out for stuntier, non-boring fashion. It works because she keeps it niche. A not insignificant number of my friends—real people with real jobs—have ID’d one of her black, pearl-encrusted backpacks on the street, or a pair of purposefully beaten ballerina sneakers. That doesn’t happen often.
At a time when so many brands play their menswear safe (most guys just want a nice, clean jacket, after all), Rocha isn’t in the trenches; she’s going over the top with ballooning jackets, and ribbons, and rosettes. Even Paul Mescal’s gotten in on the action. That’s what makes this show one of the most exciting—and oversubscribed—at London Fashion Week. People are chancing it with a last-minute seat swap, or a very convincing argument at the door.
Inside, the collection did some grade-A world-building. As a thumping, incantation-like soundtrack ushered the models in, every look felt like it belonged to a story about an old-money family with devastating secrets cooped up in a crumbling manor. There was workwear, checks and kilts for the sort of groundsmen Lady Chatterley might like. There was black lace for a handsome heir who is too sexually emancipated for his own good. Sprinkled in was an Adidas collab for the wild cousin that can’t finish a full term at boarding school. It was spooky, and fun, and elegant, all at once.
If Emerald Fennell didn’t consult with Simone Rocha on the “Wuthering Heights” costuming, then I’m sorry, but that is a great sadness in this life. Because her shows—and, by proxy, her clothes—feel like a film. As menswear becomes increasingly riddled by homogeneity, maybe that’s why we’re slogging to the outer reaches of North London on a Sunday afternoon. Maybe that’s why we can’t stop watching.
A version of this story originally appeared on British GQ.